Discovery: Rock 'n' Ride
by Hera Ledro
Summary: With the death of Stoker, Throttle is set to protect the regenerator. However, the Catatonians have set up a barricade around Earth, and General Carbine doesn't have enough troops to take it out and ensure the safe return of the regenerator. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Melodies of Life

Rock 'n' Ride – A Biker Mice From Mars Fan-Fiction

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own _Biker Mice from Mars_, or ANY of the characters affiliated with said title.

_Chapter 1: Melodies of Life_

_This is a story of Throttle. Stoker has died, and Throttle is now set to guard the Regenerator, and do what he can to get it to Mars. But, with Catatonian warships in orbit around Earth, there's little he can do to get it off the planet, and General Carbine doesn't have enough forces to eliminate the barricade…_

Throttle cranked the gas and soared through the air, jumping high over an eighteen-wheeler. Dust leapt up from the road as his back tire connected, the bike flying forward and righting itself on the blacktop. Throttle stared coldly ahead, his eyes masked by the green glasses that allowed him to see.

Two weeks. Two weeks since Stoker died, and Throttle was set to guard the regenerator. Two weeks since the tan-furred mouse had left Vinnie and Modo the note, saying he was leaving.

Life was hell.

Stoker had done what he could. He'd protected the newly-made regenerator, but he was ready to give it all up, just to save Throttle.

Throttle had been pinned after a cave-in, buried up to the underneath of his shoulders. He had protested, and yelled at Stoker to leave him, to save the regenerator and get out of the mountain. Stoker refused. He wouldn't leave one of the bros.

He'd managed to get the rocks off of Throttle, with Vinnie and Modo holding off the cats on the cliff. That's when it all went horribly wrong.

One cat was a better shot than the rest, and sent a blast straight at Throttle, bypassing Vinnie and Modo completely. Stoker saw it coming and threw away the regenerator, leaping in front of Throttle. He took the blast straight to the chest, sending him flying back against Throttle.

Throttle had managed to catch him, and laid him down against the rocks, quickly flying forward into battle in a berserk fury. He would not be satisfied until every last cat on the assault was dead. By the time it was over, the mountainside was littered with the bodies of cats.

Immediately, Throttle had rushed over to Stoker, supporting the old mouse's head with his arms. He pulled Stoker close and listened; he wasn't dead.

Yet.

His heartbeat was slowing, and he wouldn't last long. All three of them shed tears, for the first time since they left Mars. Well, everybody except Throttle. He didn't have tear glands anymore, so he just cried in his heart, sobbing and wishing the tears would come. They always made it seem easier to deal with something sad.

"Hey bros, what are you guys sobbing for?" Stoker had said, smiling warmly at the mice. "Come on, you're tough guys, you shouldn't be crying." He shut his eyes tight and then looked straight at Throttle. "Listen Throttle, get the regenerator out of here. We can't let the Catatonians get it, so I need you to get it out of here. Got it?" Throttle didn't answer. "I said, you got it?" Throttle gripped Stoker's hand and nodded, staring forlornly at Stoker.

"Awesome, bro," Stoker said, letting out a chuckle. "Well, have a good one. Give one last goodbye to Carbine for me." And with that, the mouse general of the Plutarkian invasion died.

They'd given him a quiet burial, not far from the mountain. Stoker had always liked the peace and serenity of nature, so they buried him underneath the shade of a stout sycamore tree. They made sure to place some of his favourite things near the grave. Vinnie even made a hole and buried a bottle of root beer to its neck at the head of the upturned earth.

They rode back home, not a word passing between them. Throttle had made sure to strap the regenerator to his bike, doing little less than cementing it to the frame.

The next few days were slow. The usual would happen; they would discover some Catatonians and take them out, but it was always done with deadly efficiency. Modo would explode at the slightest aggravation, and Vinnie was always very quiet, taking out his adversaries quickly rather than toying with them or risking his neck.

On the fourth day, Throttle made his decision. He wasn't going to bother risking his bros' lives. The regenerator was his responsibility, and if anybody died for him like Stoker did, he didn't know what he'd do.

So he left a note, packed up, grabbed his bike, and left, strapping the regenerator to his bike. He'd left it in a safe in the old hideout, one that only he knew the combination to. Once he'd got it, he drove away, doing whatever he could to keep his bros out of harms way. He'd even disabled the communications system in his helmet and on his bike.

They would be after the regenerator, after all. And if they attacked the hideout en masse, there would be nothing that could keep the Biker Mice alive.

Throttle snapped back to reality as he drove, but his mind turned to memories of Stoker.

Even when Throttle had a real family, Stoker had been a huge part of his life. It was Stoker who had taken him on his first bike. Throttle remembered cruising through the red dust and stone on the planet, clinging onto Stoker's jacket as he gazed at the red mountains that whizzed by.

He remembered days when he would go to Stoker's and play with Carbine, Vinnie, and Modo. All four of them had been close, and Stoker was always like a parent to them.

Especially after the deaths of their parents during the war.

They were still kids, back then. When their parents died, Stoker took them in, gave them a home and helped to raise them. No matter what they did, whether it was good or bad, he would always be understanding and fair; firm, yet not wrongly so.

_I'd hoped to call him my uncle, one day_, Throttle thought, biting back a sob.

Then he noticed them, the walkers.

There were three Catatonian walkers lined on the road, waiting for them. Immediately, Throttle set his face and charged. Three walkers wouldn't be a big deal, he could take them. Even with the lasers.

Throttle drew his laser pistol and shot at the furthest to the right, destroying its right leg. Despite all their victories, the Catatonians were not bright. With the walkers lined up, it was extremely easy to manipulate them. In dealing that one blow, Throttle started a chain reaction, with the one walker falling sideways and knocking into the middle. The leftmost walker tried to get out of the way, but to no avail: the middle one collapsed into it, all three falling into the ground.

Throttle zoomed by, sending a few well-aimed blasts into the fray, mercilessly killing the cats. Why should he care about their lives when they didn't care about Stoker's, or the mice on Mars?

His heart was a cold fury as he sped along the highway, heading north. The Catatonians hadn't invaded Canada yet, and the bros wouldn't ever think of looking for him there. He stared ahead, face set, his fur blowing in the wind and his jacket flapping in the air.

**Throttle** - So...you've got me going solo?

**Hera Ledro** - Yep.

**Throttle** - And Stoker died?

**Hera Ledro** - Yep.

**Throttle** - Might I ask why?

**Hera Ledro** - Because, contrary to what my _American Dragon: Jake Long_ fan-fiction may suggest, I'm not all about happiness and amazingly satisfying stories. The best way to evoke passion and emotion is through morbidity, through death. Now, I haven't even started with any real morbidity yet (in fact, this unnaturally short chapter barely rates the term), but rest assured, there will be morbidity.

**Throttle** - Sorry I asked...

**Hera Ledro** - Yep.


	2. Chapter 2: Desertion's Destination

DISCLAIMER: As much as I wish I did, I do not own _Biker Mice From Mars_ or any names, concepts, or merchandise affiliated with said title.

**Throttle** – So…How's it hanging Jon?

**Hera Ledro** – Not bad, just writing another chapter.

**Throttle** – Well, I'm on my way to Canada…Why there?

**Hera Ledro** – You know others have asked me the same question. Mainly, it's because Modo and Vinnie wouldn't think of looking for you there, and it's a place the Catatonians have less interest in. Oh, and also because I live there.

**Throttle** – But Rump will have set something up there, and the Catatonians that I took out on the way here will have sent out a message to Cataclysm and the other high-ups. Come on, bro, think this through.

**Hera Ledro** – glare I have thought it through. You're not just going anywhere, you're going to be crossing the country to Nova Scotia. Yes, Rump has set up a bunch of stuff in the larger cities like Toronto, Montreal, and the like, but he's relatively unheard of in the Maritimes. A few Rump Burgers here, a couple Rump Fish 'n' Chips there, and that's about it. Oh, and they may have sent out the message, but they hate water, and you're going to a place right on the beach.

**Throttle **– I stand corrected.

**Hera Ledro** – Yep.

Throttle leaned against a railing, looking over Lake Michigan. The air was crisp, yet warm, under the sun's rays, unimpeded by clouds or mist. A slight breeze blew through the air, and tiny little waves beat against the shores of the great lake. It was a beautiful day, and he wasn't far from the border.

Then why did he feel so empty?

Throttle's helmet was on his bike, letting nothing prevent him from looking straight into the water. He took his glasses off and stared. A handsome, caring face stared back, coupled by stunning crimson eyes.

He hadn't taken his glasses off since the old days, when they were fighting Plutarkians in Chicago. That was back before the turn of the millennia on Earth.

_Ah, the old day_, Throttle thought. _When you could always count on your brains, your bros, and your bikes._ His face hardened and he shoved his glasses back on, walking back to the bike. He mounted it and drove off, his green bike little more than a blur within a few minutes. He was near the border now, and he couldn't let old memories distract him.

But Carbine.

Oh, she was the one he wanted. No matter how many times he'd openly denied it, he knew he loved her. General Carbine, leader of the Freedom Fighters on Mars.

It hadn't been long into the force that Throttle had realized he felt different around Carbine. For the longest time, he was more serious and dedicated while she was around, long before she ever became a general. Eventually, he loosened up around her, and she became like one of the bros. Even up to now, Throttle had difficulty accepting that she was a higher rank than him in the force, and often spoke to her out of line.

They had been friends since childhood, something not even Modo or Vinnie could claim. They had always enjoyed playing with each other, and Carbine was never too girly to do a lot of guy things that Throttle had liked to do.

She'd even had the same affinity for bikes that Throttle did. They even had pretend races, sitting on Stoker's bikes and laughing as they built a race track in their minds. Back then, Throttle's eyes hadn't been damaged, and his imagination was so powerful that he could literally see the tracks, and Carbine passing him as he went along.

Throttle shook his head. This was the way it had been going since Stoker's death. Whenever the mice weren't fighting Catatonians, they were caught up in their old memories, going over them in their heads.

Throttle's memories of Carbine and Mars brought back even more scenes from his past. He remembered when he was captured by the Plutarkians, just after his eyes were damaged.

Nothing had been the same for them since then. It took a long time for Throttle to get used to his new eyes, and for Vinnie to accept that his face was maimed forever. But both Vinnie and Modo were able to get over their damage a lot easier than Throttle. Throttle still had shadows in his mind, shadows that would bring up how blind he truly was.

Without his glasses, Throttle could see very little. In fact, without aid, he could only see a couple of feet in front of him, and even that was bright and blurry. Modo and Vinnie had been damaged in areas that really didn't affect the way they worked, except for Modo's arm making battles easier.

Throttle's was a true maim. It never really made a big deal, but he'd always felt a little jealous of Modo and Vinnie. His deadened eyesight prevented him from going anywhere without his glasses, prevented him from allowing Carbine to look him in the eyes and say that he could look back.

He slammed his fist on the handle of his bike. Why were all these memories coming to him? Was Stoker really that important?

He stopped the bike on the side of the road, took off his helmet and stomped onto the grass. It couldn't wait; he had to solve this dilemma now.

"Alright Throttle, let's think this through," he muttered, speaking only to himself and the empty air. "Stoker's dead, the one man who took you in as an orphan. You're probably never going to see Carbine again; there are too many warships barricading the way. You just left your best bros, the guys you've known your whole life, who you would lay your life down for."

"No, that's why you left. The regenerator is in your hands now, and keeping it there would only put them in more danger. And, with all the warships around Earth, it's taking slack off of Carbine's fight on Mars. By keeping the regenerator with you, and protecting it with your life, you're keeping them safe, and living up to Stoker's last wishes."

"So, now I'm back to where I started when I left. Where am I gonna go? A mouse can't just dig a hole and hide. I know I've got to go to Canada; the bros would never look for me there. But where do I go?" Throttle scratched his chin. "I don't know much about the place, but I do know that Catatonians hate water. It's a farther drive to the west, so I'll go east, and see where that takes me."

With that, Throttle mounted his bike, strapped on his helmet, and sped off. The dilemma wasn't completely solved, but now he had a better idea of where he could go to settle down and solve it permanently.

But, what if it was already solved?

"Man, where could he go?" Vinnie called across to Modo. "How could he leave us like that?"

"Throttle's always been more withdrawn than us," Modo said thoughtfully. "And just think of Stoker's death." It was the first time the incident had been mentioned since the mountain.

"So what," Vinnie grumbled. "We lost Stoker too, there was no difference."

"But Vinnie, Stoker was like Throttle's father," Charlie said, pulling up beside Vinnie. "Not only that, but Throttle was your leader. You have to expect him to act a lot more independent than you guys do."

"Exactly," Modo affirmed.

"He's still being a selfish idiot," Vinnie said.

Charlie shook her head. "I don't think so, Vinnie. Think about it; Stoker set him to guard the regenerator. Add on the fact that he's probably feeling responsible for Stoker's death, and he's probably worried he'll put us in danger, too."

"But we can take care of ourselves."

"Which would only help to justify it. He thinks you don't need him, so he left."

"I don't care if he's right or not, I'm still going to pound him for high-tailing it and leaving us a note." The three bikers sped on, two mice and a woman, desperately searching for their best friend…

**Throttle** – Hey! I thought this was my story? What are you doing bringing those three into the second chapter, and with their own section no less!

**Hera Ledro** – I need them to progress the story. This fan-fiction may be focused on you, Throttle, but you're not the only moving factor. A little tidbit to all you writers out there: don't focus only on the main character, as it makes for a dull and stationary story!

**Vinnie** – Speak for yourself. Any story that focuses on this bod is always going to be exciting.

**Hera/Throttle/Modo/Charlie** – VINCENT!

**Vinnie** – What?

**Hera Ledro** – Alright readers, as a little wrap up, I just want to say a few things.

**Hera Ledro** – Firstly, I want reviews. They are the life's blood of us writers, and if you want good stories, you've gotta give reviews. I don't care if you hate the story, as long as you give me constructive criticism and tell me what you think should be improved. Saying the story is great is an awesome way to review too!

**Hera Ledro** – And, I want to point out that this chapter is shorter than I intended. The only reason you're getting it today is because I worked on the storyline for three hours, and the actual writing for about an hour. I decided to cut it off with Vinnie and the rest because their role will be particularly important, and they will be a key factor in what Throttle is doing.

**Vinnie **– I'm a key factor in everything, man.

**Hera Ledro** – VINCENT!

**Vinnie** – Jeez, you don't need to get snappy.

**Hera Ledro** – sigh Lastly, I want to address the rating of this story. It is rated T for Teen because, in future chapters, there will be a fair deal of blood and gore, as well as the occasional curse. So, don't be lulled into a false sense of security with the (unnaturally) short chapters, because the real stuff has yet to come.

**Hera Ledro/Throttle** – Ride free, citizens!


	3. Chapter 3: Flight from Hell

Rock 'n' Ride: A Throttle Fanfic

**Rock 'n' Ride: A Throttle Fanfic**

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the _Biker Mice from Mars_ or any merchandise/affiliates of the name (a guy can dream, though). Similarly, I own no copyrighted names mentioned in the text. However, Danny Renalds is MY character; if you want to use him in any of your fictions, ASK ME FIRST.

**Hera Ledro**: I want to apologise for the delay. Not only am I working on this fan-fiction and the _American Dragon: Jake Long_ one, but I am also designing a Save AD:JL poster, organizing a Role-Playing Tournament on Final Fantasy Forums, drawing characters for the RPG Inferno on the aforementioned forums, and holding down a full-time job, ALL WHILE studying for and participating in a university course.

**Throttle**: Think you bit off more than you can chew, Jon?

**Hera Ledro**: Tell me about it. I've had to balance my time so that I don't get bogged down.

**Throttle**: You know, you COULD tell them that you just have way too much, and you won't be able to do the stuff.

**Hera Ledro**: What, and let them down? Right. You know as well as anybody that I'm a person for the people.

**Throttle**: There is such a thing as too much.

**Hera Ledro**: Yeah, I guess…Anyways, onto the story!

**Throttle**: Yeah, I get to meet somebody new! That is a good thing…right?

* * *

Chapter 3 – Just Me, my Brains, and Canada

Throttle heaved out a sigh and sat with his back against an alley wall. He'd finally made it to Canada; Sault Saint Marie, to be precise. He didn't care what the internet said: Canada was NOT an echo of the States.

The people here were generally kind and respectful, and eve if they thought anything bad of him they never openly said it. They'd keep a face and smile, aware that they wouldn't enjoy being insulted, so why would someone else? Throttle's best experience came from a Petro-Canada gas station.

Apparently, the Biker Mice's exploits had been little less than legendary here, and everybody knew about them. The gas stations and repair shops all knew about the freedom fighters and their bikes (though they were unaware as to the species of the Biker Mice); the Petro-Canada station even gave Throttle free gas because of his activities in Chicago. Throttle offered to pay, but no matter what, the owner turned him down. She said that he'd done too much good for people to pay for gas (in the end, Throttle didn't complain; it was more than a dollar thirty per litre).

There were a few other places that were like that, but Throttle managed to barter his way into spending money for the majority of them (something he'd actually tried to reverse while in Chicago). A few kids had even come up to him and praised him (they, too, being woefully unaware of his origins). The only people who had ever done that before were Carbine, Charley, and the Bros.

He shook his head and looked up. It was night-time, and he was in the dark; safe enough to take off his helmet.

Throttle removed his head-gear, grateful to give his face and ears room to breathe. They'd been cooped up in that helmet for more than a fortnight, ever since he'd left the bros. Throttle shook his head and fanned out his large ears; they hurt after their long period in the helmet.

It was his first big mistake. As he shook his head, a pack of bikers came roaring through the alley. Throttle's hand flew to his laser, out of instinct more than anything, and he leapt up, completely forgetting the helmet that clattered against the ground.

The bikers stared at the mouse, completely at a loss for words.

All but one. A particularly audacious biker scooted forward and pointed an accusing finger at Throttle, roaring: "Freak!" His biker buddies joined in, and reached for whatever unknown weapons they had.

Throttle didn't stay to find out the hard way. He grabbed his helmet and slammed it on his head, jumping onto his bike. Like all Martian AI bikes, it felt the urgency of the situation and took off, with Throttle having barely enough time to grip the handles.

"Come on, girl," he whispered to his bike, his ears painfully aware of the bikers that were roaring around the alley corner after him, "Get us out of here." The bike needed no further prompting. With a little assistance from Throttle, it made a giant leap and landed against the side of a building, right between two windows. Throttle had no time to soothe whatever people he'd aroused at this time of night, and urged his bike onward, straight up the side of a building. The pursuing bikers, with no thoughts of any innocents, immediately opened fire on the ascending mouse. Though the majority missed by large margins, there were a few that were close calls, ricocheting off the metal frame of Throttle's bike. Throttle took aim with his laser pistol, hitting a few of the attackers with some well-placed stun shots to the chest.

Then the bike roared overtop of the building edge, soaring high into the air and descending rapidly towards the rooftops. Throttle braced himself for the impact. Rightfully so; the shocks only absorbed a little of the force from his rapid descent.

Throttle didn't stop there. He shot along the rooftops, jumping edges and putting a rocket-boost when there was a roof that was too high for him to just leap onto. The bikers were still following him along the alleys and roads, frighteningly aware of how limited Throttle's escape options were.

Throttle was all for retaliation against his pursuers, but he wanted to keep things quiet. He stopped on a rooftop and took his bearings. He stared to the east; there was a bar there that he would be able to hide in. Without further prompting, Throttle blasted along the rooftops, flying over a pack of his pursuers. He shot a few laser blasts into the group, to create enough confusion that they would lose their bearings. He was rewarded with cries of frustration and pain as his lasers connected with the unwary bikers.

* * *

Throttle sat on a stool against the bar counter, sipping a root beer. He cast a wary eye about the bar, keeping an eye for the symbol of the group that had been pursuing him: the Hell's Angels.

Throttle had been too busy escaping at the time to think about it, but once he'd managed to flee to safety, he found himself going over the insignia over and over again until he remembered the name of the gang.

He'd never been sure whether to respect or loathe the gang. They were, if possible, as tight as Throttle was with Vinnie and Modo, but they were notorious for criminal activities. They were a large biker gang, and Throttle had seen the symbol drawn on several buildings in Chicago. Even during web searches, he'd managed to find websites on them. Out of curiousity, he scoured their website. He'd been reassured to note that they did not accept children into their folds, but he'd been equally disturbed once he'd looked over other sites and noticed their abhorrent crimes.

Either way, his latest experience did not support any respect he'd felt for the biker gang. If he wasn't in such a rush to get away from America, and if they hadn't outnumbered him twenty-to-one, he would have stayed and fought. As the case was, however, he needed to get as far away as he could.

He got up and left, tossing a recently acquired toonie and a loonie onto the table, to pay for his root beer. He needed only lay low, not hide in the dark.

He got to the door when he saw the Hell's Angels again, driving up into the bar. He cursed, running around and out to the back, apologizing every which way to people he bumped into.

It was too late, though. One of the bikers came in and immediately recognized his helmet. He shouted for his group, but Throttle didn't give him time to act. He leapt out the back door and ran around front. He silently thanked his fortunes; they hadn't been near his bike.

With a sharp whistle, he called his bike, which started up and automatically drove to him. He leapt onto the seat, gripping the handlebars and sealing the visor on his helmet. He cranked the bar and roared off into the night, the regenerator clattering against the bike frame.

The bikers had heard the whistle, and the few that were outside recognized Throttle riding by immediately. They called to their buddies inside and started up their bikes, tearing off after Throttle. Throttle's ears told him that they were hot on his tail, and several bullets whizzed past his head, coercing him to speed up.

One biker was a better shot than the others. Throttle yelped in pain as three bullets hit him in quick succession, one to his left shoulder, another to his left leg, and the third to his right arm as he reached for his laser pistol.

He noticed an alleyway ahead, so he veered off to the right, his wheels skidding against the side of the building as he made his sharp turn.

It was a dead end.

Throttle cursed, slamming the brakes. The building wall was angled towards him, so even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to ascend to the top. Seeing no other options, he whirled around, activating his bike's weapons systems.

He loosed a volley of rockets towards the first unlucky group. He wasn't going to play nice guy this time; he was going to show them what would happen when they messed with a Martian mouse.

The second group had equal misfortunes, as several lasers pounded them out of the alley. This was enough to scare off the majority of the bikers, but a few were a bit bolder than the rest. Not to mention a lot more honourable.

A group of ten bikers got off their bikes outside of the alley and approached Throttle, hands raised to show peace, albeit temporary.

"Out with it," Throttle growled, his voice dangerously low and his finger itching to pull the trigger.

"Fight." The head biker said gruffly. "One on one. You win, we let you go; you lose, you come with us."

"Whatever," Throttle said, dismounting his bike, but keeping his pistol in hand. "No weapons, you got it. Otherwise, I should just blast you right now."

"No weapons," the lead biker said, shaking his head. He lowered his arms and threw his weapons to the side. Throttle cast a wary eye over the remaining bikers, but they moved out of the alleyway, also throwing their weapons aside, indicating that they would do nothing but watch.

Throttle reluctantly tossed aside his laser, wounds forgotten and blood pumping. "Alright, fine. One on one with no weapons."

Throttle got into a ready stance just in time, as the large biker took the opportunity to launch himself at the mouse. Throttle countered with a well-placed left hook, sending the man flying. The assailant fell, sprawled against the wall and dazed from the wicked blow. He pushed himself up and the two became entangled in a death lock.

It took a half hour of punches, grapples, and throwing before Throttle finally wore down the leader. With a final blow to the stomach, the leader collapsed. Throttle stared down at his handy-work and, with a nod of finality, sent a glare at the watching bikers. They nodded back and grabbed their leader, getting on their bikes and driving off into the night.

Throttle turned around and limped back to his bike. The fight had not come without price; his right leg was broken, his left ankle was twisted, and his left arm felt like it was fractured in about three places. Even so, he had to leave before more bikers came. He painfully mounted his bike and drove off into the night.

* * *

Throttle flew across the road, passing Mastodon Ridge, Nova Scotia. His body was on fire; he hadn't treated his wounds, and he'd been riding for two days, getting what little sleep he could on his bike. His head was throbbing and his eyelids felt like lead.

It wouldn't be long until he came to the coastal city of Halifax. Then he could find somewhere to rest, somewhere to patch his wounds. He felt like he was on the brink of death, but he couldn't stop, not now.

* * *

Two police cars and a half-hour later, Throttle found himself on a beach. He was on the Dartmouth side of the Harbour, Halifax's lesser twin. He sat watching the waves as he fished about painfully, trying to extract the bullet from his shoulder. There were periods when he had to stop and wait, so agonizing was the pain. He was lucky, though; the bullets hadn't gone far into his muscles, no more than an inch each. With the exception of the one in his shoulder, they were relatively easy to remove.

He finally managed to pull the metal stud out, and gasped as the bullet escaped his shoulder. He was covered in blood from his self-operation, and was reluctant to wash it off; salt water hurt like hell on wounds. Instead, he ripped more of his jeans off and bandaged his wounds until he felt situated enough to go to a hospital.

"Who are you?"

Throttle whirled around at the sound of the voice, his right hand flying to the laser pistol on his waist. He found himself looking at a young boy, not much older than fifteen, who stared at him in kind several feet away.

He wasn't armed, so Throttle took his hand away from his gun. "My name's Throttle," the mouse replied warily, "What about you?" Throttle's voice was not unkind, but it bespoke the agony his body was in, making him sound short-tempered.

"Danny," the kid said. "You new around here?"

"Yeah. I came from the States." Throttle had to suppress the urge to clamp his hand over his mouth; he hadn't meant to give that away so quickly. _Maybe I lost more blood than I thought_, he thought wryly.

"You look hurt," Danny said, scrutinizing Throttle's heavily-bandaged form. It was dusk, so there was enough light to see the jean-bandages covering his wounds.

"I had a run in with some bad seeds," Throttle retorted. He had to be careful of what he said. If he got caught off-guard again, anything could happen.

"You have a place to stay?" Throttle was so baffled by the question that he went over it in his head just to make sure.

"No, but I can camp out a lot. We — I mean I've done it a lot in the past."

"You're an alien…" the boy said softly. Throttle didn't even have to ask how he knew this: the boy was staring at Throttle's tail. The mouse had been foolish enough to forget to wrap it around his waist.

"No," Throttle replied hastily, "I just like to accessorize." He took hold of his tail and whirled it around. "See? It's just an accessory."

"Prove it," Danny retorted, folding his arms. The kid was smart, despite his super-emo appearance. Black shirt, long dark hair, and semi-tight jeans. Not Throttle's style, but humans were always weird. "Take it off."

"Um…" Throttle tried to come up with explanations, but ended up sighing and resigning. He took off his helmet and stared at the boy through his green sunglasses. Danny's eyes widened when he saw the biker's face; it was that of a mouse!

"You tell anyone, I bite your head off." Throttle was quick and to the point, his voice thin as the pre-winter frost.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Danny said, regaining what could only be his lax composure. "Aliens are cool. I had a few visit me a while ago. One of them had blue fur, with a long tail and a wicked blade on the end. Cool guy, though; nice, smart, and honourable."

"Honour?" Throttle spoke the word as though testing it for the first time. He'd almost forgot what it was like to encounter 'honourable' people.

"Anyways, if you need a place to crash, follow me. It's a lot better for the wounds than the sea-shore is." Throttle was reluctant to trust the human, but he didn't have much choice. If he stayed out here, the weather would infect his wounds and he'd die within a few weeks. If he went to a hospital, they would figure out what he was and expose him. He had to keep the regenerator safe, even if it meant taking the lesser of the dangers.

_I hate dilemmas_, Throttle thought. "Fine. Just let me get my bike."

"Your…bike?" The mouse walked behind a large rock, which cleverly concealed his green bike from view. Any passers-by would have completely missed the machine in its stony haven.

"I gave it a paint job a few years ago. Would've kept it black if I knew I'd be caught up hiding from humans." Danny didn't miss the hint, but he decided to keep his mouth shut for now. There would be plenty of time to ask the mouse questions, but right now, he had to get him back.

"Follow me," Danny called, turning and walking along the beach. "My house is just up the road."

* * *

Throttle stared around at the garage. It was a good place to crash until he found somewhere better. The place was decked out with anything a man-away-from-home could want. Even still, Throttle wasn't intending on staying long. Just until he healed up.

And then, everything went black.

* * *

**Hera Ledro**: Alright, I want to apologise for the delay. Life has been brutal lately.

**Throttle**: Brutal? You put me through that, and you tell me YOUR life is brutal?

**Hera Ledro**: Oh, you just wait. You think you've been through bad stuff? You ain't been through anything yet.

**Throttle**: I'd say "do tell," but something tells me I don't want to know.

**Hera Ledro**: Not to mention it would spoil it for the readers. So, once again, sorry for the delay. And I'm REALLY sorry to what I'm going to have to do to my favourite mouse next chapter.

**Throttle fan-girls**: WHAT! HOW DARE YOU HURT OUR THROTTLE!

**Hera Ledro**: Run Throttle! They're going to kill us!

**Throttle**: Kill you more like. You want to hurt me.

**Hera Ledro**: They'll smother you to death with kisses.

**Throttle**: Point taken…LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!


	4. Chapter 4: Torturous Triumph

Rock 'n' Ride: A Throttle Fan-Fiction

**Rock 'n' Ride: A Throttle Fan-Fiction**

**Chapter 4**

_A spectral form walked down a dirt path, unsure of where he was going but knowing he had to go. Cliffs surrounded the path, some jutting out like jagged daggers in a melee, while others were intricately curved and rounded, looking as though they may have been sculptured._

_The spectre came to a fork in the road, and stared ahead. He was unable to discern anything, save two figures on the right path and a blurry mass at the end of the other path._

_The right path was illustrious, garnished with flowers and vegetation that would shame even the greatest of botanical gardens. Two humanoid apparitions stood there, both blurry and faded. One wrapped a tail around the travelling spectre and pulled him close._

"_Come with us…" was all the apparition said, and then she relinquished her hold, allowing the travelling spectre to float back to the crossroads._

_The spectre then stared down the left path, where there were the horrifying sounds of gunfire and war, of death and destruction. But, at the end of the road, past all the consuming hatred and violence, there floated a gun-shaped object, as indiscernible in details as the two apparitions._

_It glowed and resounded above all the warfare, above all the cries. Near this object there was no fighting, there was no pain; there was only a calm peace. The spectre was inexplicably drawn to this object, yet his heart yearned for the tailed apparition and her companion._

But what about duty?_ the spectre thought. _I have an obligation to fill…if I don't do this, then they'll suffer…_ The spectre cast a longing look at the apparitions and the object in turn, his mind reeling at the decision which he had to make._

_And soon, too. The cliffs were crumbling as the thoughts raced through the mind of the spectre, the rocks dislodging from their edifices. He knew what he had to do._

_And then, a fire consumed him in a blazing inferno._

"AARRRGGGHHH!" Throttle cried. A powerful jolt of electricity coursed through his body, waking him instantly and sending wave after wave of all-consuming pain over him. The pain ceased, and Throttle attempted to curl up, but found himself unable to do so.

He was strapped tightly and uncomfortably to a hard metal table, with blunt metal studs pressing hard into his shoulder blades. He tried to turn his head, but there were metal rods that held it in place. Everything on his now-naked body, even his antennae, was bonded tightly to the large metal plate.

"Ah, your cheesiness, it seems that our guest has awoken!" a high-pitched, wheezy voice called. Throttle opened his eyes to find none other than Dr. Benjamin Karbunkle speaking into a microphone. Karbunkle stared with glee at the strapped form before him, eyes boring into the detained mouse.

With a great _whooshing_ sound, a door nearby opened, and footsteps could be heard on the metal. Lawrence Limburger, fat and malodorous as always, came into plain view, glaring at Throttle with a look that bordered devilish glee. "Ah, my villainous vermin friend, how nice of you to join the world of the living once more! We were so hoping you may join us for our little…excursion."

"What are you talking about, you cheesy lump of lard," Throttle groaned, gritting his teeth. His vision was fading, now; he did not have his sun-glasses on.

"I see that you have learned no further manners, my dear boy," Limburger replied haughtily. "You see, when we discovered where you were, the dear doctor and I thought that we should finish the improvements we made all those years ago on Mars." Limburger's smile was wide and evil, and Karbunkle was cackling gleefully.

"Yes, you see, we are going to finish what we started with your eyes. It is unfortunate, however, that we must first fix those eyes of yours before we can continue, but once they are done with we will have a perfect spy!"

Throttle struggled against his bonds, but it was little use; he was bound so tightly that he couldn't even flex his muscles. "You low-life stinkfish," Throttle gritted. "Where is the regenerator!"

Limburger pushed a button and motioned to Throttle's right, to which the table turned. "Oh, I assure you, it is perfectly safe. It is being scanned as we speak, and we are to have a perfect replica made in due course." Throttle gasped as he saw both his bike and the regenerator held in a giant glass room, and it was only then that he realized where he was.

He was on a Plutarkian warship!

"You lousy curd," Throttle yelled, "Keep away from that regenerator."

Karbunkle cackled gleefully and spoke to Limburger. "Oh please, your rancidness, may I operate now?"

"Yes, yes, be my guest," Limburger replied evilly. "But before you do…" Throttle heard the button click again, and turned around to see Limburger grinning at him cruelly.

He was holding a heavy metal pipe.

"You see, my dear boy, _you_ were the largest annoyance to me during our encounters all those years back. _You_ were the leader, _you_ were the one who directed all the attacks and plans. Why, without you, the biker mice are like a snake without its head!" Without warning, Limburger brought the pipe down on Throttle's left arm, rewarding himself with a roar of pain and the snap of bone as the metal connected with the elbow. Limburger hit it twice, thrice, four times! He hit it so hard and so numerous a time that Throttle could not distinguish anything except the screaming agony that continued on for a seeming eternity. Every slam took a fraction of a second to create the pain, but it would not die down. Every hit forced the mouse to cry and roar at the top of his lungs, completely drowning out the maniacal laughter of both doctor and commander.

Limburger hit it one last time, and hit Throttle across the face with the back of his hand. "_You_ caused me the most trouble," he gritted. "You are the reason that I am in charge of nothing but a small warship, why I had to endure YEARS in the Pits! I will repay you a thousand times what you did to me, mouse!" With that, the tyrannical Plutarkian turned on his heel and left, chuckling evilly as he departed the room.

Throttle could barely breathe for the pain he was feeling. Every movement of his body sent pain shooting down his arm, and he wasn't sure anything could numb it.

But the worst was yet to come…

* * *

Throttle sat hunched against the wall of his cell. He had been through the most painful operations of his life in little more than forty-eight hours.

Karbunkle had gleefully set to work as soon as Limburger allowed it. He skated over the sedatives; he wanted the operations to be as painful as possible, he wanted to hear the screams and wails of agony as he worked.

How much time had truly passed during the operations, Throttle could not tell. They had all felt like a thousand eternities, the pain never receding and always intensifying. Throttle had screamed and screeched aloud with pain, he had screamed as he'd never screamed before, but it only served to fuel the mad doctor's sadism.

Even now, after two separate sets of operations, Throttle's vision was a red blur. His sun-glasses served little purpose, now, for Karbunkle had set to work so eagerly and promptly that it took only the two sets of operations to finish what they had started with his eyes.

They were whole. Though Throttle's eyesight was still clouded by the blood, and everything was a red haze, the eyes were finished and he could see properly. Throttle almost thought it a blessing in disguise, but the pain had corrected that erroneous theory. He would never have gone through that to get his eyesight back.

But, here it was, completely restored and renewed. Throttle found himself blinking and asking himself if this was simply a mocking nightmare, a living hell from which he would eventually reawaken. But every moment was filled with such pain and agony that he knew it was no dream: it was cold, hard reality.

After the final set of operations, Karbunkle had grudgingly admitted that Throttle's eyes would need some time to heal from the operation, or else the new mind-control device would not work. The bionics were extremely complex, and unless the face could heal over properly, the mechanics would interfere with the signal. It needed an abundance of neurons to be properly transmitted, the majority of which Karbunkle had severed or killed during his operations.

Throttle slumped down and lay on the ground, his form bare and vulnerable. Karbunkle had hesitantly placed a cast on the wound, but only because they needed him to look normal so that he could spy on the biker mice. The mouse stared at his arm, his mind whirling with pain and torment.

Throttle fell asleep soon after, and was once again visited by the dream of the roads.

* * *

Throttle's eyes swerved calculatedly, using the newer, advanced bionics to aide in his escape. It was gracious of Karbunkle to put infrared sensors in his eyes; once the blood in his vision cleared, Throttle was able to tell what was going on outside his door.

With concentration on the bionics, Throttle was able to shift from the normal, trichromatic vision to infrared, and he had used this skill to study the happenings outside of his cell. Every few hours, the guards would change, and for a small period of time there would be only two at his door, far less than the usual ten. Despite the pain that still wracked his head, Throttle couldn't help but snigger at the arrogance and idiocy of the Plutarkians.

What gave him even greater pleasure was that the door had cracks in the side that were just large enough for his tail to fit through. He deduced that, once only two guards were there, he'd be able to take them by surprise.

Not two hours later, the next shift began, and only two guards were left at the door to his cell. Wincing slightly from the strain, Throttle turned on the infrared vision and manoeuvred his tail through the crack, snaking it upwards behind the first guard and around the neck, making sure not to touch any skin. It was the work of a second to tighten that grip, taking the soldier by the neck, and then slam him into the other guard, the collision of those meteors they called heads knocking them both unconscious. Throttle snaked his tail to the still forms of the two soldiers, and grabbed the key card. Gently, he set it into the slider and pushed down with his tail, smiling as he heard the electronic lock turn.

Throttle withdrew his tail and pushed the door open. Freedom!

But he was not completely free yet; there was the little matter of the Plutarkian forces infesting whatever ship he was on. With this in mind, Throttle bent down and grabbed one of the semi-auto laser rifles that the guards carried. He held the cold weapon tight to his side and ran down the hallway, his bare feet making no more than a whisper of sound as they padded against the ground.

He came to a corner and stopped, peeking around the side. Walking towards him was a small group of Plutarkians, only five soldiers in total. Throttle grinned. He'd been a commander in the Martian Freedom Fighters for a reason: he was no fool of a mouse.

Throttle crouched down silently, waiting to see their shadows creep past the corner. As soon as they did, he launched himself forward and unleashed a barrage of lasers on them, the Plutarkian weapon cutting through the unsuspecting forces with relative ease. The Plutarkians weren't prepared for a scrap on their own ship, and hadn't worn any protective armour. A mistake that gave Throttle the upper hand while he held the element of surprise.

Throttle crept down the corridor until he came to a bright red door. This was the lab, where he'd been tortured for uncounted hours. An image of him being dragged into the room while strapped to a metal table came unbidden into his mind, and he visibly shuddered at the picture. Steeling himself, he pushed the pad on the door-frame to open the door. Luckily for him, the Plutarkians had minimal security in this section; it allowed for Limburger and any other Plutarkian soldier to check in on Karbunkle and revel in whatever torture the doctor performed.

The mouse entered the room slowly, suspicious as to the ease of this venture. A single group of Plutarkian soldiers was far too easy in his books, so his natural vigilance was strengthened all the more.

It was not difficult to locate his bike or the regenerator; they were in the exact same place as they were before: in the glass room. Throttle took aim with the laser rifle and let loose at the doorway, whose glass was thinner than that of the walls. To the Martian's misfortune, the glass was reflective of lasers through some Plutarkian technology. Throttle found himself rolling to the left to evade his own blast, and kept his ears peeled for any more ruckus. The deflected laser had caused devastation among the bloodied glass instruments that were sitting on tables and stools, and Throttle heard several gushing sounds as their contents were spilled all over the room.

He glared at the doorway. There had to be an easier way in. Maybe if he broke the control panel…

_No_, the mouse thought, _That would be too easy. There's probably an alarm or something triggered to it._ Throttle racked his brains, taking in every appearance of the glass case. Then, at long last, he saw a crack in the glass. It may have been reflective of lasers, but nothing could reflect fists.

Throttle took a running start and smashed his fist into the glass, wincing as it broke and the debris cut through his hand. He took his other fist and smashed another part of it, widening the large hole he'd created just enough to fit through. As soon as his tail was through, he whistled at his bike, which responded immediately. It beeped with artificial happiness until Throttle shushed it, trying to keep the noise down.

"Yeah, it's good to see you too, baby," Throttle whispered, mounting the seat. "But we've got to get out of here. Do you think you can find where the bridge is?" The bike revved an affirmative. "Cool." He checked the straps on the regenerator and grabbed his glasses, which hung on the throttle of the bike. "Alright, let's ride!" The bike revved happily and shot forward, almost throwing Throttle off. It shot through the glass prison and through the doorway, with Throttle keeping his hands on the weapons triggers.

It wasn't three minutes before Throttle arrived at the bridge, his finger becoming trigger crazy as he shot through the door. He found sadistic pleasure in the fact that Limburger, Karbunkle, **and** Camembert were all there, faces pale with fright at the sight of the mouse.

The glass had taken a toll on more than his hands. His entire body was dripping blood from the scores of gashes the exploding glass had given him, and his face looked like that of a cruel murderer with the new scars he'd been given by Karbunkle.

Glaring at the doctor, Throttle growled, "You're lucky I don't have time for you, slime. I've got to get out of here. But rest assured, I'll get you back for what you did to me and my bros…" Without further warning, the bike shot forward through the bridge window. Throttle could have sworn he'd heard all three of his enemies cursing, but it didn't matter much.

He was falling straight into the maw of the Grand Canyon.

* * *

**Hera Ledro**: Oooooo, suspense!

**Throttle**: You ass! You're sending me into the Grand Canyon while I'm naked, low on weapons, and completely scarred? Oh, and don't even get me started on the torture you put me through with Karbunkle. I'm going to remember that for the rest of my life…

**Hera Ledro**: Now, now, language. I told you, it's going to get darker as we go. The first few chapters were mild build-ups, just something to get the story started. Now we hit the morbidity and cruelty.

**Hera Ledro**: And look at it this way: You're naked, right? Well, can you imagine what all of your fan-girls (or the occasional gay fan-boy) will be like? They'll be all "I FINALLY GET TO SEE MY THROTTLE NAKED!"

**Throttle**: …If I didn't like you, you would be so dead right now…

**Hera Ledro**: Yeah, I know, but I'm the kind of guy that's very difficult not to like. But I can be an ass, sometimes.

**Hera Ledro**: Oh, and to the readers, I would like to apologise for this chapter being as delayed as it was. I would like to apologise even more for how short it is. I don't think this is one of my better works, but it will keep the story going for now. But what do YOU think it going to happen? I want to see what you believe is going to happen in the next chapter.

* * *

**Review Replies**

_Elven Warrior Princess_ – Why thank you. But there's something special about Danny, something that will come in later chapters. Should Mishi's prediction come true, there may be more to him than the minor character he is…

_Luiz4200_ – Glad you liked it, and here's the update!

_Mishi Sykes_ – Good point. I looked over that again, and you pointed out a key flaw. I'll have to be sure to watch for that in future chapters. As per Hera, it all depends on if I get enough requests for "new" characters. I have some in mind, but we have to see how much people want new things as opposed to just old things.

* * *

**Hera Ledro/Throttle**: Ride free, citizens!


	5. Author's Note and Replies

**Author's Note**

Alright guys, listen up. This chapter is delayed simply because of one thing: I want reader's input. However, I'm adding something into it so that I know what it is you want. Only a few of you are reviewing, so the only way for me to know if this is agreeable or not it for me to ask you directly.

How would you feel about a new character? I've been writing the next chapter, here, but I've hit a point where one of two things could happen: one requires a new character, the other doesn't. Rest assured, it's an original character and very well done (I've spent more than a decade honing this guy). Whether he will play a big part or not in the overall story is for you to decide, but first we have to focus on his inclusion.

**Review Replies**

_Elven Warrior Princess_ - Just wait until the next chapter. There will be less physical pain, but a lot more anguish. Emotions make a far more powerful scar than any blade.

_Luiz4200_ - Limburger was just somebody I had to bring in. Despite the fact that he's an old villain, he did make an appearance in the continuation, and I thought it would be a good twist to add him in. He spent a lot of time in The Pits, so I definitely had a good motive for him. Can you imagine how horrible life would've been for him down there?


	6. Chapter 5: Hell's Angel

Rock 'n' Ride: A Throttle Fan-Fiction

**Rock 'n' Ride: A Throttle Fan-Fiction**

**Hera Ledro:** Right, I just want you to know that I HAVEN'T gone and done a suicide or anything. I've just been really, _really_ busy with work and university and other crap. But, I'm back, and with a new chapter!

**Throttle:** So, what did you decide with the character problem?

**Hera Ledro:** So glad you asked. Since the few replies I got wanted a new character, I decided to bring myself into it. Not Jon me, but Hera Ledro me.

**Throttle:** Wait, _you're_ coming into this now?

**Hera Ledro:** That's right. And you'll just _love_ me.

**Throttle:** Ho boy…well, bros, looks like my death clock is ticking. When Jon comes into something, pretty sure thing that nobody comes out.

**Hera Ledro:** Hey, so not true! It's not like I'm going to be a HUGE part of this story, just something to keep it going. They said they wanted an original character, so I gave it to them.

**Hera Ledro:** Oh, that reminds me: to those people who didn't want a new character, SUCK IT UP! I asked for your opinions, for you to tell them to me and give me feedback. What do I get? A few replies, some of which I had to ask people about personally. None of them were against any original characters (or so they said), so guess what: you've got a new character. You don't like it, fine, but DON'T bitch about it; I gave you the chance to speak up and you didn't.

**Hera Ledro:** That's all for now.

**Throttle:** Harsh…

* * *

Chapter Five: Blast from the Past

Throttle plummeted into the maw of the Grand Canyon, the Regenerator clanking ominously against the frame of his bike. Air rushed through Throttle's fur, and he felt a giddy exhilaration overtake him as he plunged into the abyss.

The Martian's mind raced. He desperately racked his brain, instinctively sifting through his memories and experiences for a solution. It came to him as the first cliff whizzed by.

He jammed his thumb on a button in the dash of his bike. Immediately, a grappling hook shot out from the rear of his bike, soaring over the cliff and hitting the ground with a loud clank. It screeched and scraped against the ground, snapping taut with a sharp report as it hooked onto a rock.

The bike soared towards the cliff edge with Throttle on the connecting side. With a roar of effort, he leaned over and twisted the bike so that the tires would connect. It worked, but he didn't take his wearied and wounded body into account. As soon as the bike connected with the cliff face, the impact sent him flying off into space. It was only luck that saved him.

Ten feet below the bike was a cliff that jutted out from the main wall. Throttle's back made a sickening crunch as he landed flat on the rock. The force of the impact rolled him over, and he scraped to a stop with his face hanging over the cliff edge, laying spread-eagled on the stone. Throttle opened his eyes and pushed himself painfully upwards. He couldn't waste any time; if he didn't get away soon, the Plutarkians would be on him like stink on a stinkfish.

After a few failed attempts, Throttle finally managed to push himself up. He clutched the wall, struggling to keep the breath in his body. As he pulled himself up the cliff face, he berated himself for having such little foresight. The strain was extreme, both in body and mind, as he levered himself up the jagged slope. Rocks cut into his hands and feet, and wounds from Karbunkles experiments opened anew as he strained to reach his bike.

Five minutes later, Throttle was cringing as he gripped the handles on his bike. "Alright babe, take us up," he grunted. The bike complied immediately, whirring and clicking as it wound up the cord and pulled them up the cliff.

As soon as the back tire cleared the cliff, Throttle slammed on the gas and shot back.

Only to be greeted by a barrage of laser blasts.

Throttle wasted no time, turning forward and speeding across the wasteland. He was no cowardly mouse, though, and took several shots from the laser rifle he'd stolen from the Plutarkian guard. Straps were amazing tools.

The Plutarkian warship was unique in design, being only half a kilometre long, by Throttle's reckoning, and maybe two-thirds of that wide. A giant dorsal fin protruded from the top of the ship, as well as two pectoral fins on each side, just below its equator. On the end of each fin was a pair of lasers, identical to those that were aiming at Throttle through domes on the body of the ship. Two pairs of giant cannons were just underneath the fore-front bridge, slowly turning to bear down upon the fleeing mouse.

Throttle knew that it would be useless to waste rounds on the body and hull of the warship, much less the bridge; the latter would likely be protected by the same reflective glass that had held Throttle's bike and the Regenerator onboard. Instead, he loosed a barrage of laser blasts at the two main cannons. He wasn't a good enough shot to disable them for sure, but he reasoned that if he shot them enough, he'd either damage them and prevent them from firing, or get lucky enough to hit the wiring and completely disable them. The shots needed careful aim, so Throttle allowed his bike to auto-pilot as he turned around.

Luckily for him, he managed to disable the main cannons. He was very lucky with his shots; Throttle managed to hit the wiring behind one of the cannons as the laser bounced in the gap between the hull and the outside of the cannon. His second shot was similarly reflected on the inside of the cannon, and the blast connected with the firing mechanisms inside. The resultant explosions burned in Throttle's eyes as he turned back to focus on his escapade.

From his rear-view mirror, Throttle noticed that the Plutarkian ship was floating down. At first he thought he'd caused some serious damage, but his smirk disappeared as he realized they were landing. They were going to come for him with the entire force detailed to that warship.

Throttle saw no other way. Grudgingly, he jammed on the communications system in his helmet. "Vinnie, Modo!" he roared into the comms system. "Come on, bros, don't do this to me now!" He tried again, casting a hasty glance back at the Plutarkians now filing out of the ship. Hundreds were pouring out, all of them armed to the teeth.

He tried a third time, slamming his fist on the dash of his bike as it failed again. "Dammit!" He revved the engine and shot off.

The Plutarkians began to open fire at his retreating figure, long since having abandoned what secrecy they had when they'd deactivated their cloaking device. A lancing pain through Throttle's back heralded a Plutarkian with good aim (or very good luck), and the mouse roared as the pain seared through him. He almost lost control of his bike, lurching forward onto its dash as the laser discharged into his body.

When he rose up again, a blue-furred bat-winged humanoid creature was flying alongside him.

The Martian's first instinct was to veer away and open fire. A quick slash from a scythe-shaped blade on the end of the creature's tail severed the barrel of Throttle's weapon, putting and end to that plan. Before Throttle could even lift another finger in retaliation, the creature yelled at him.

"Look, I don't have time to explain! Danny noticed you were gone, told me, and I've spent the last goddess-knows-how-long tracking you down." The creature, male if his voice were anything to go by, drew a giant sword from its sheath on his back. "Keep going, there's a cave a few miles from here."

Before Throttle could protest, the creature had already flown back, though how it did so without the use of its wings escaped Throttle. But Throttle had no time to waste on the creature. He revved the engine and shot off into the wilderness, ignoring the cries that were resounding behind him.

* * *

Throttle slammed his fist on the rock wall. _Stupid_, he thought. He had no supplies, not water, and nothing to bandage his ravaged body. He would have used the Regenerator to get water, but he was fiercely adamant on the fact that his job was to protect it, not use it for personal gain.

His attention was caught by a movement outside the small cave. He whirled about painfully, wincing as he placed his hands on the laser triggers on his bike. Standing at the cave entrance was the creature from before, surprisingly in one piece. As he walked forward, Throttle's eyes managed to catch a better look of the creature.

It stood only slightly taller than Throttle himself, and had long black hair that stood up in sharp spikes. The creature's entire body, from tip to tail, was covered in blue fur only slightly shorter than Throttle's own tan fur. The tail itself was at least thrice as thick as Throttle's own tail, likely more, and at the end of it was a wickedly sharp ivory scythe-like blade. Two gigantic Dragon wings were folded beside the creature's body, and black-irised eyes peered out from the creature's human-like face.

"Stay back," Throttle warned gruffly, "or I'll blast you back to whatever rock you crawled out from."

The creature raised his hands in a sign of peace, but continued to walk forward. "Relax." The creature's soft voice rang out in the cave, smooth and soothing. "I'm here to help. My name is Hera Ledro, and I think you already know who sent me. Unless you didn't hear me back there."

"The human, Danny," was Throttle's only answer.

"Yes." Hera Ledro nodded. "He found you were gone, and there was blood spatter on the floor." Here, Throttle reached unconsciously towards the back of his head and felt he scar that had healed over on the ship. "Danny put two and two together. He seemed really worried when he contacted me; he must have taken a shine to you."

Throttle nodded curtly, but did not remove his finger from the trigger. "You came just in time, but I'm _sure_ you'll forgive me if I'm still suspicious. That tail there ain't exactly friendly lookin'."

Hera chuckled. "Well, maybe you'll trust me a little more if I heal you. Do you have some water?" When Throttle shook his head, the creature gestured towards the Regenerator. "Well, you might as well make some, then. I won't be able to do much without water."

"No." Throttle's voice came down like a hammer. "I'm protecting it, not using it."

"A fat lot of good you'll be as a protector once you bleed to death," Hera scoffed, jerking his chin at the blood sheeting down Throttle's body. "I'm sure Stoker would be real proud of you while you're lying six feet under, and the Regenerator in the hands of the Plutarkians because you couldn't prioritize."

The retort hit home. Throttle's mouth worked convulsively, trying to return fire, but the instant something came to mind it rang so false that he had to clamp his mouth shut again. Finally, he sighed and stared straight into the creature's eyes. "How do I know you can trust you?"

"You don't. The only thing I can tell you is that I'm your only hope; there isn't any good civilisation for miles around here, and you'd never get to them in time with the blood your losing."

Throttle battled internally. Could he really trust this 'Hera Ledro'? It was absurd to think that he could heal Throttle with only water, but what choice did he have? He was beginning to get light-headed, and if the creature knew Stoker, then maybe he really was trustworthy.

"Fine," Throttle gritted, "but one slip up and there'll be a hole through your gut. How do you plan to heal me with just water?"

"You'll see," was all that Hera Ledro said. Throttle limped over, placing one hand on his blaster, and leaned against the Regenerator in the corner where he'd placed it. Pressing the activation toggle, he watched water flow out of the barrel of the gun-like machine.

Hera made his move like fluid lightning. He drew his left arm upwards, hooking his fingers as he did so. To Throttle's amazement, the stream of water moved with the hand. The creature made several flowing movements with his hands, and the water flowed behind and around him in a stream, focusing itself in a sphere in front of him over his right hand. A few moments passed, in which the bubble of water grew and grew, until Hera finally said, "Alright, that's enough."

Almost in a daze, Throttle switched off the machine and stared at the floating bubble of water as the last remnants of the stream coursed into it. The bubble was now as large as Throttle's head, ears included, and ebbed and flowed inside itself.

"Alright, lay down," Hera instructed. Throttle did so, coming out of his reverie, but continued to watch the creature. Hera walked up toe him and crouched, lowering the bubble until it was level with Throttle's chest. He parted his hands, spreading the bubble until it was shaped exactly the same as Throttle's torso, pressing down softly against his fur.

Hera gave the sheet of water a quick tap, causing it to shimmer. He rose again and drew the water back into a bubble (though the cause still escaped Throttle).

"Right," Hera said gravely. "Considering the fall you had, you're really lucky. The surface of your body is really roughed up, but you've only got a few cracked ribs on the inside. Your left femur is shattered, but that's fixable. You really are a lucky one; not many Martians could survive that fall, much less come away with it practically untouched."

"Oh yeah, these cuts are just my imagination," Throttle gritted sarcastically.

Hera chuckled, but went straight to work. The process was agonizingly slow and deliberate, but effective. First the creature moved the water over a wound, pressing the cool liquid against it and concentrating, then move on to the next one and start the process over again. It was going to be a long process, so Hera decided to attempt a conversation with the wounded mouse.

"So, been on Earth a while, have you?" asked the creature.

"Long enough not to trust humans."

"What about Charley? You guys would trust her with your life."

Throttle visibly tensed at the mention of Charley, wincing as a cut Hera was healing reopened.

Hera sighed in annoyance. "Try to keep still, 'kay? Talking doesn't mean jerk around like a squid."

"How do you know about Charley? Better yet, how do you know about my bros?"

"Come on, if I know you, I'm bound to know the people you hang out with." Throttle's eyes showed that he wasn't going to take that for an answer. "Well," Hera said slowly, "The truth is that I was a careful observer of you a few years ago, when you first came to Earth."

"You were here then?"

"Yeah, and I know about Limburger and the Plutarkians. Let's just say that Karbunkle is lucky that you're my priority right now." Hera hesitated before continuing, obviously fighting an internal battle concerning the information he was divulging. "A lot of times, I managed to stop Limburger before it ever got to the point where you guys had to get involved. I had other priorities, though, so I couldn't be there most of the time."

"So how do you know Stoker?"

"Stoke? He and I go way back, when he first joined the Freedom Fighters. He was one heck of a general, I'll tell you that; cunning as a fox, he was. I was…sadder than you'd think when I found out that he died. He was a good mouse, he was."

"How did you find out?"

"I came to Earth and couldn't feel him anymore. I knew that he wouldn't get off the planet with his condition; he'd never be able to get to a ship in time. I didn't want to believe it at first, and spent the first few days scouring the planet for him. He has a noticeable signature, trust me."

"When I was sure he wasn't here, I went to his last hideout in the mountain. I've been helping him build the Regenerator, specifically by gathering materials. I'm no tech wiz, so I did what I could. With that thing, you guys could head home, and I could deal with the Catatonians."

Throttle's curiousity overcame the latest jab of pain from a sealing wound. "So why aren't you out there fighting off the Cats?"

"Because you had the Regenerator. I saw Stoker's grave, and when I couldn't find the Regenerator in the hideout, I thought you would have it. You're like his son, Throttle, you really are. When we were together, he wouldn't stop talking about how proud he was of you guys, especially you. Why wouldn't he be? You're all amazing field commanders, and from such a young age. But you were his prize, Throttle; he loved Vinnie and Modo just as much as you, but you were the one who'd improved the most and led the best. It's why Carbine chose you as a Commander, too; you have excellent group leadership skills that both she and Stoker could see."

A fresh wave of pain overcame Throttle, and it wasn't from the healing.

"Alright, that should do it for the surface stuff. Now it's time to get to work on those bones. I need you to stay _completely_ still for this, no talking either. Not that you were talkative in the first place." Throttle chuckled, but did as Hera asked.

Healing the bone was different, and dreadfully more painful. Hera would take the water and cover the entire wounded area. The water, as before, would glow dimly, and the feeling of cold seeping through Throttle's body made the mouse gasp. When the feeling reached his shattered bones, Throttle almost burst out of his body in pain. Hera had to work to keep the mouse flattened against the stone as he worked, pressing his huge tail down on the flailing body.

Oh, did it hurt.

But it was over with soon enough. Unlike Karbunkle's operations, this pain was not a pain extended through eternity, but surprisingly fleeting, over within minutes. Even though Hera strained to keep his concentration evenly divided between keeping the mouse still and focusing on the healing.

The operation, albeit arcane, was costly on Throttle. He found himself gasping for breath at the end, though he was unsure whether it was the pain or the tax on his body that caused it. He flexed his previously broken arm, testing it. The ache made him grimace, but it was far better than the shrieking pain that he had been suppressing before. When Hera removed his tail, Throttle pushed himself up on his arms. His ribs ached as well, but they too were as nothing compared to before.

Hera nodded. "Right, they'll ache for a while yet, and you'll have those scars for the rest of your life, but you're healed." Ignoring the creature's summary, Throttle pushed himself up and started for his bike. Hera cocked an eyebrow. "And you are going…?"

"Closest town I can find," Throttle grunted. "I have to fund somewhere to hide so I can protect the Regenerator."

"Oh yeah, that'll go well. A naked mouse – Martian mouse, no less – rides alone in the streets. Wonderful. I'm sure Stoker would love for you to hide the Regenerator by drawing attention to yourself." Hera's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You got a better idea?" Throttle growled.

"Wait here and I'll get Vinnie and Modo," came the simple reply.

"No." Throttle's voice became hard, but Hera could swear that he heard a slight choke. "Charley and the bros will be safer without me there."

"You'll have to face them sooner or later, and since they're your best bros and all I'm sure they'd want to help." Throttle remained unconvinced, and turned his back to Hera. "You can't run forever, Throttle. Sooner or later, you'll have to face your bros. Do you honestly want to spend the rest of your life running away from them?"

"No," the mouse answered quietly. "But I will if it keeps them safe."

Hera shook his head, exasperated despite being sympathetic. "It won't keep them safe for long, Throttle. Both the stinkfish and the furballs know how important your friends are to you. They'll find them and capture them, use them to blackmail you into giving them the Regenerator. And if you don't cooperate, they'll kill them, just like they've done to the other planets."

Throttle frowned. The words hit home, particularly because of their truthfulness. The Plutarkians and Catatonians weren't stupid, despite all demonstrations otherwise, and they could be extremely ruthless. Cataclysm was a perfect example of that, and the strategy was perfectly probable.

Throttle opened up his mouth to protest, but was silenced as Hera raised his hand. Indignant, Throttle narrowed his eyes at the strange creature. "Now just hold on a –"

"Shh!" Hera shushed, closing his eyes. The tapered ears were flared, and a look of concentration plastered itself on his face. When he relaxed a moment later, he spoke. "The Plutarkians are coming. Get on your bike, find your bros, and get the Regenerator to safety. I'll hold off the stinkfish long enough for you to get away."

"How many do you think there are?"

Hera shrugged, almost unconcerned. "A couple of hundred, nothing I can't handle." The blue-furred humanoid gripped the hilt of the giant sword hanging on his back, a savage grin playing across his features. "I might spare a few of them, if I stay in a good mood."

Throttle was completely taken aback. "A couple hundred? There'll be nothing left of you by the time they're done!"

A cruel laugh escaped Hera's lips. "I'll cut my tail off if one of them even manages to get a hit on me. Don't worry, Throttle; I could take out a lot more than that if I wanted to." As if on cue, Throttle's senses went haywire. He couldn't explain it, but the creature's power seemed obvious now. It wasn't that it was hidden before, but Throttle just didn't register it.

The power pulsed from Hera like a white hot fire. Throttle couldn't see, hear, smell, or touch the power, but he could sense it. He didn't know if it was his psychic abilities or not, but he could feel an ungodly amount of strength emanating from the creature.

_But still_, Throttle thought, _there's no way that he could take out an entire battalion of stinkfish._ "You'd better be damn careful out there," Throttle warned. He owed Hera his life, so the least he could do was trust him. "I'll find the bros, then, but _when_ you win, go straight for Chicago and wait for us –"

"At Charley's garage," Hera finished. "If I'm not at The Last Chance, I'll be at the Quigley Scoreboard. You must have a lot of questions, and after appearing out of nowhere like that, I owe you some answers. You'll get it when we meet again, I swear, but I have some fist to fry. Who knows, I might even bring back some fish sticks for a barbeque or something." Both of them chuckled before Hera turned to leave. "Be careful Throttle, and – how is it you say? – ride free!" With that, Hera spread his wings and shot out from the cave like a bat out of hell.

"Ride free, Hera," Throttle muttered, "Ride free…" He walked over to his bike and caressed the frame. It made a revving sound in response, and the light flashed on. Throttle nodded decisively and reached into a hidden compartment. From the small gap he drew his old spec ops from the Plutarkian Wars. The black rimmed emerald glasses shimmered in the setting sun that illuminated the cave, and Throttle grinned. He mounted the bike, grateful to hear the purr of the engine again. Without hesitation, Throttle shot from the cave into the horizon, turning eastward as he flew over the dust, leaving a gigantic brown cloud in his wake.

"I'm comin', bros!"

* * *

Vinnie smashed his fist against a wall, and Modo paced nervously. "Dammit," Vinnie swore, "where's Charley-girl?"

"Right here."

Vinnie and Modo whirled around, only to see the hulking Cataclysm holding an unconscious Charley over his shoulder. And entire squadron of Catatonian soldiers filed over the plateaus, surrounding the mice.

"Why you…LET CHARLEY GO!" Vinnie roared. He made to jump at Cataclysm, but Modo held him back.

"Don't, bro. He's got the upper hand, here." Modo's voice was strained with anger and loathing. "What do you want, Cataclysm?"

"A trade," Cataclysm said, grinning wolfishly. "The girl for the Regenerator. Where is your leader?"

"We're looking for him, furbag," Vinnie gritted. He was ashamed that he'd let Charley go off alone, but anger was etched into his every feature. "And we don't have the Regenerator."

"Well, that's too bad," Cataclysm chuckled. "Until we get the Regenerator, you don't get the girl."

"Meet us back here at sunset in a week, and you can have the girl back. But, you must bring the Regenerator…or your leader's head." A Catatonian warship descended from the clouds and settled on the ground. Vinnie and Modo could do nothing; they were surrounded by cats with guns aimed point-blank at their heads. Cataclysm retreated into the warship, followed by his squadron. They kept their guns trained on the mice as they backed into the ship.

"Remember," Cataclysm called as the warship took off. "One week in the Canadian Shield!"

Vinnie and Modo could do nothing but watch helplessly as the ship took off, taking their Charley-girl with it.

* * *

**Vinnie** – Whoa…you're letting them take Charley-girl? That's cold man, real cold…

**Hera Ledro** – Oh, you wait and see what I have in store next chapter. You three will want to rip my guts out by the time we're done.

**Modo** – Nah, you can't be that bad…

**Throttle/Charley** – Oh yes he can!

**Hera Ledro** – Hehehe…

* * *

**Author's Note**

I want to thank my reviewers a lot. I got a lot more reviews on this chapter than displayed in the Reviews page, most of them via e-mail and really good reviews.

To my readers, I wish to apologise for the delay in this Chapter. I've had the physical (i.e. pen and paper) version written up for some time now, but I haven't had a chance to get it all down onto the computer. But, here it is, and I hope you enjoy it. I made Hera Ledro a bit cliché in this chapter, but when you see him later on, you won't think he's as cliché as I've made him out to be.

So, cliff-hanger ending, people! Uuuu, what's gonna happen next? Hehehehehe…MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!


	7. Chapter 6: Solace and Slight

**Author's Notes**

DISCLAIMER – Look, I don't even own a motorbike, much less three (very good-looking) rodent riders. If you suspect in some way that I'm making money off of this, you have stinkfish for brains -_-

HOLY CRAP IT'S BEEN NEARLY A YEAR?! My god, almost a year since I updated this fan-fiction. Look, you can all throw things at me, but wait until after this chapter to do so! This is the result of forcing myself out of a Writer's Block slump. _Home_ was a drabble from before that hadn't quite been written up, and _The Best Part_ was another attempt at forcing myself into motivation. Well, I'm back. So yeah, let's count how long that lasts…

Anywho, I would like to give a shout-out to a couple of people. First and foremost will be ElvenAngelMayCry. Her writing charisma REALLY helped me through this. And I know, it's probably against some etiquette to do this sort of a plug, but you should really read her _Devil May Cry_ stories some time; she's REALLY good. And I mean, REALLY good.

Second shout-out goes to inuficcrzy. Wonderful woman, she is. Got me out of my initial slump and back on my writing feet. She's easily a direct influence on this chapter (see if you can spot the reference!), so to you m'dear, a big thankee! And don't miss reading out on her _Oh My Biker Gods_… series either. I think that one easily has the most potential, but the _Shattered, Repaired, Renewed_ series is just as good. Read it sometime; I can't describe its awesomeness.

Finally, I would like to shout out to ALL of my friends on Project EVO Forums. Loads of them are writers, some not, but all of them were inspirations to me for this chapter. Special thanks go to Shenorai and Foxxeh (a.k.a. Red Fox).

Now, without further ado, I'll quit my insane prattling and give you my chappy. First chapter in this story for a while, so bear with me.

* * *

**Rock 'n' Ride Chapter 6 – Solace and Slight**

Vinnie was driving Modo insane. It was official. The big grey mouse huffed in frustration as Vinnie called the 'plan' over to him for what was probably the hundredth time.

"When we get there, we radio that jerk Throttle," Vinnie said hysterically as they streaked through the streets of Chicago. "If we can't reach him, we go straight to Carbine."

"Chill out, Vincent," Modo said. His voice was even, but he was also squirming on the inside. "We've been over the plan a hundred times. And it's not even really a plan, more of a…goal."

"Modo." Vinnie's voice was ice cold. "Charley-girls in the claws of the cats. My best girlfriend has been captured by furry feline felons. Do. Not. Tell. Me. To. CHILL OUT!"

"We're here anyways," Modo growled, pointing at the Scoreboard.

Vinnie was silent for a few heartbeats. "Yeah," he said finally, "but who's _that_?"

Modo followed Vinnie's gaze. Someone or something was hovering above the Scoreboard. "I dunno, bro. I've never seen anything like it. What in the gods' names has wings and a tail like that?"

Vinnie was opening his mouth to reply when he felt a dull _thudding_ sound inside his head. A second later, his antennae began to tingle and twitch, and a voice echoed through Vinnie's (usually empty) mind.

_Vincent van Wham_? the voice asked. Vinnie replied, "Yeah." The voice continued a second or two later.

_Do not bother speaking your answers, for so long as you think them, I shall know. I see that Throttle is not with you. Good; it will give me time to explain and get you two caught up. Meet me in the Scoreboard, both of you. I have much to say, and I expect Throttle will be here in a few hours._ With that, Vinnie's antennae ceased tingling and the dull throb in his skull faded.

Modo looked over to Vinnie. "Hey bro…did you just have –"

" – A voice talking in my head? Yeah; you did too?" Vinnie frowned as Modo nodded an affirmative. He looked back at the Scoreboard, and sure enough, the figure was gone. He and Modo exchanged a look, and then gunned their bikes, shooting straight for the Board.

* * *

_Twenty minutes later…_

"You're a _what_?" Modo asked incredulously.

"An Allsie," the figure said simply.

"Never heard of 'em," Vinnie groused suspiciously.

"That's because my race is virtually extinct," the Allsie said sourly. "Look, we can argue about this till Doomsday, or I can give you the run-down on Throttle. What do you want?"

Vinnie was about to shoot off his mouth when Modo smacked him upside the head. Ignoring the indignant cry of his comrade, Modo looked back at the Allsie. "Sorry about Snowball, here. We've –"

"DON'T CALL ME SNOWBALL!!!" Vinnie screeched.

" – Never really had good experiences with aliens beyond Charley. What did you say your name was, again?"

The Allsie inclined his head. "My name is Hera Ledro, son of Creig Ledro. And you need not explain yourselves nor your mission; I know all about you."

"How?" Vinnie asked, warily curious.

"Stoker. I've known him for a while, now, and he always bragged about you three. If he meant what he said – and he almost assuredly did – then you guys were the sons he never had."

"Some son Throttle turned out to be," Vinnie groused. Bitter resentment oozed through his voice.

Hera's face contorted piteously. "Well, Vincent, let me explain what Throttle went through before you jump to conclusions." With that, Hera Ledro launched into an account of Throttle's doings since the mouse left. He ended with leaving to battle the Plutarkians, then fell silent.

Modo and Vinnie were quiet throughout the entire relation. The, finally, "It still doesn't change the fact that Charley-girl got kidnapped because of Throttle."

Hera's eyes shot up at Vincent as he uttered his statement. "What?" Hera asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," Vinnie said dispassionately. "We were up in the Land of the Igloos –"

"Canada," Modo interjected at Hera's confused expression.

" – When the cats got the jump on us and took off with Charley."

Hera looked thoughtful. "I wondered why she wasn't with you," said Hera, "but I thought you guys just left her to keep searching while you came back. I never would have thought that the cats would be so bold as to grab _Charley_ of all people. She –"

"'She' what?" a voice interrupted. Vinnie, Modo, and Hera whirled around to see Throttle standing in the doorway of the Board, garbed in a Catatonian Claw Trooper uniform.

"'She' what?" Throttle repeated.

Vinnie walked over to Throttle, his mouth working up and down. He gazed intensely into Throttles eyes, covered as they were with his old shades, and stood there, yammering silently.

Then he thumped Throttle across the jaw.

Throttle took it well. The blow sent him sprawling into the wall. Rubbing his jaw, Throttle fixed his dishevelled specs and looked at Vinnie, who was bent over with his right arm – and its tightly curled fist – tensed, panting with anger as he stared viciously at Throttle. Throttle said, "I guess I deserved that."

Modo walked up, his one eye glowing bright red. "Oh yeah."

Throttle looked to Hera. "You told them, didn't you."

"Everything," Hera affirmed.

"How? You don't know what happened to me on that ship."

"No," Hera admitted, "But I got a good look at your eyes while I was healing you, and Karbunkle was on that ship; I could feel his malevolent mind. I can put two and two together, you know."

"Well, I guess that saves me a bit of work." Throttle kept his voice level enough, but he was tense inside. He knew that the only thing that was holding Modo and Vinnie back was the fact that Hera had explained his situation.

"Not really, Throttle," Hera admonished. "What have you been doing between the time I healed you and now?"

"And why?" Modo said evenly, "are you in a Claw Trooper uniform?"

"Well…" Throttle sighed. It was an embarrassing story to say the least. "It went like this, big guy.

"Hera here healed me but then took off to fight a group of stinkfish. I left the cave he was healing me in and started for home. A patrol of Plutarkians caught my tail and I had to jet hard. I got far and lost them, but ran into a patrol of cats at the edge of the desert. At first, I don't think they saw me. But just as I was putting my stealth mode on, one of the cats pointed me out.

"Bros, I thought I was dead. But then they started laughing, and they just couldn't stop. I guess naked Martian is a dangerous look, because I took out all of them and stripped one my size of his uniform. The ride was really too breezy before then."

Hera smiles, but Throttle's attempt at levity was lost on Modo and Vinnie. Throttle looked at his feet. "Look, bros, I'm sorry. I know I was a total idiot –"

"Duh," Vinnie said severely.

"– And I'm not justifying what I did. I just hope you can understand it." With that, Throttle turned and walked of to his old room, intent on finding his clothes. _I hate this uniform_, he thought bitterly. He preferred his get-up from the good ol' days…

* * *

Vinnie and Modo stared after Throttle. They didn't even turn when Hera spoke up.

"Think what you will about Throttle," Hera said, a slight growl to his voice. "But don't you dare think of him as a coward. He did what he did because he thought it was best, and at no small sacrifice to himself."

Modo was staring at the spot where Throttle's door closed, obscuring the tan mouse from view. But he was staring for a whole different reason. Before leaving, their leader had shed the shirt part of the Claw Trooper uniform, revealing a host of scars that Modo had never seen before. "Hera, sir…You told us that Karbunkle was operating on him. Are those scars…"

"Yeah, Modo," Hera confirmed. "They are. I did what I could, but there was no way I could heal that much damage without leaving a trace of it. I don't know enough about it to take away scars like that."

"Doesn't matter," Vinnie said darkly. "He left us hanging. Bros don't – OW! What the hell was that for?!"

Modo had smacked him hard across the head, and Vinnie was now rubbing the back of the flesh part of his skull. "That," Modo growled, "was for putting him down like that. Didn't you see the scars on him? He's got more scars than he has skin now!"

"Vincent," Hera said quietly, "you should look at Throttle's face under the glasses. His old specs actually cover the scars well, but those are the worst scars of all.

Just then Throttle came out. He regarded everybody with an expression of sincere apology. "Look, guys, I jus – oof!" Vinnie moved forward and shoved Throttle down and pinned down Throttle's arms with his knees. "Hey!" Throttle protested. "I know I deserved that thump, but –"

"Just shut up before I really hit you," Vinnie said flatly. Without hesitating, he grabbed Throttle's specs and pulled them off.

What he saw almost made him physically ill. Throttle's eyes were surrounded by dark, fur-less scar tissue, and serrated edges bordered the wrinkled flesh. The scars extended in a jagged strip on either side of the face, toothed edges which extended all the way over his temples and down to the bottom of his ears. Vinnie subconsciously reached up and touched his mask, where he knew similar damage was hidden from the world.

Vinnie tore his eyes away from the haunting scars and dropped Throttle's glasses on his chest. He got up and walked over to the side of the Board, keeping his back to the group.

"Vincent?" Throttle called tenderly. He took to leaning on his elbow when Vinnie had removed himself, and a concerned look painted his face as he put his shades back on. When no reply was forthcoming from the white mouse, Throttle walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, bro, talk to me."

"I'm sorry," Vinnie choked out. It was so quiet Throttle had to strain to hear it. Then, louder, "I'm sorry, okay? I should have trusted you, should've known that you wouldn't have left unless you were sure of it."

"Nah, you were right, bro," Throttle whispered. "I never should have left."

Modo walked over to the two and put his mammoth hands on their shoulders. "Hey, we all made mistakes. What matters is that we're bros again, right?"

"Yeah," both Throttle and Vinnie replied.

Modo looked straight at Throttle. "Look, bro, I don't like what you did, but I know you're not perfect. We make mistakes, and I forgive you."

"Me too," Vinnie said, smiling.

"Thanks, bros," Throttle muttered. "That means a lot, and I'm real sorry for being such an idiot."

"Not that this isn't touching and all," Hera interjected, "but we have some cats to cook."

The bros started at his voice; they'd completely forgotten he was there. Throttle looked at Hera and nodded. "Yeah, we do. Now where's Charley-girl. She wouldn't want to miss out on a rumble like this." Turned away as he was, he didn't notice Vinnie's expression darken.

"That's why we're cookin' them, bro," Vinnie said. When Throttle looked at him, a puzzled expression was on his face. Then, slowly, realization dawned on him, and he gritted his teeth and bunched his fists in anger. His tail writhed and spasmed from his temper.

"What did they do to my Charley-girl," Throttle growled.

Vinnie had Throttle sit down and then launched into relation of their story since Throttle left. When he arrived at the point of the ambush, Throttle's visage contorted. A dangerous look permeated his face, and a fire burned in his eyes like nothing else.

"So they want either me or the Regenerator," Throttle managed, his jaw sore from the intensity of his clenching. "Dammit! Did they say where they were meeting?"

"Yeah, they said in the Canadian Shield. But then they contacted us while we were on our way back and said that we'd have to find them! And they may not even be on Earth! We came here to radio Carbine; see if she could pinpoint the cats." Vinnie was, by now, nearly as mad as Throttle.

Hera stepped in with a suggestion. "Look, wherever they are, we have to find them. Let's contact Carbine now and get a plan going. Gnashing out teeth won't do us or Charley any good here." Everybody agreed, and Vinnie set to work getting the radio to function.

* * *

"So you _do_ have the Regenerator?" Carbine asked. The comms radio added static to her voice, but it was still relatively clear.

"Affirmative," Throttle said.

"Then we can't jeopardize our mission of a single Terran. Return the Regenerator to base, Commander."

Throttle scowled. "Forget it, Carbine. We don't leave one of our own behind, you know that."

"No Charley –" Vinnie began.

"No Regenerator," Modo finished. His eye was glowing dull now, but his anger was rising quickly. He'd never liked Carbine's arrogant and condescending attitude.

Carbine narrowed her eyes. "We need that Regenerator. Would you risk our entire planet for the sake of one Terran?"

"Let's not play the blame game here," Hera interjected hurriedly. He looked directly at Carbine. It was his first encounter with the she-mouse, and he was not having good first impressions. Manipulative bitch, she was.

But Hera wouldn't say that out loud.

"Look, Carbine," he said dispassionately, "I know that you are worried about your planet, but I have an idea for saving your planet _and_ Charley."

The space between Carbine's brow and cheeks narrowed. "Do tell." It was quite plain that she didn't trust the blue-furred alien. In her opinion, anything as tall as Modo with the brains of Throttle was dangerous.

"The Catatonians have no idea who I am," Hera stated. "As such, they are also unaware that I have allied myself with the Biker Mice. I could provide a decent distraction, allowing the bros to sneak in and rescue Charley from behind."

"Maximum explosion potential on the front lines…I like it!" Vinnie's exclamation was accompanied by a savage grin.

"Couple of problems, though," Throttle interjected. "One: we don't know where the cats are. And –"

"Two," Modo finished, "Vinnie can't even conceive quiet, much less sneak through a Catatonian base.

"Well," Throttle admitted, "we can put Vincent on the front line with Hera. It'll add to the confusion and give us a better chance to sneak in."

"I think I may have a solution to the first problem," Carbine interrupted. "Reports show that there's been a lot of furball activity in one of their key bases here. More than usual. In addition, a strange bio-signature is in the base. Our biologists assure me that it is a female human."

Throttle was suspicious, and cocked an eyebrow. "I dunno, Carbine," Throttle said. "It seems too obvious. Either it's a decoy or Cataclysm is setting up a trap."

"Regardless, it will serve both ends. It'll save Charley and allow us to secure the Regenerator."

"One more problem," Hera cut in. "How are we going to get to Mars? From what I read in Vinnie's mind –"

"YOU READ MY MIND?!" Vinnie screeched in indignation.

"—You haven't been able to spare enough troops for a decent escort and transport. In addition, only an idiot would have missed the constant Catatonian patrols in Earth's magnetosphere. The cats are disabling and capturing any satellites, rockets, or otherwise that Earth sends into space. One can only imagine they'd tear a transport apart, especially a Martian one."

Carbine nodded and thought for a moment. "Hmm…" She started sorting through papers off-screen, uttering an exclamation as she found something. "Aha! Our scientists have been working on an experimental cloaking device. So far it's passed the tests and performed better than expected, but it's never been used in the field. We'll produce enough to attach to your escort. It will take about two days to produce enough, and another two for the transport to get to you."

"Four days," Throttle said incredulously. "Four days of waiting, and six until we get to Mars?"

"If we're lucky," Carbine affirmed dryly.

"But…Dammit, Carbine, isn't there a faster way?" Throttle gritted.

"Afraid not, Commander. Sit tight, and keep that Regenerator safe. We'll contact you when the transport has been dispatched." With that, Carbine stood and deactivated the comm unit, sending the screen into static.

Throttle pounded his fist on the table and engaged in many colourful swears and oaths. If the situation had been even a little less serious, Vinnie would have been impressed with his bro's vocabulary. As it was, however, he shared in Throttle's frustration.

Hera put a hand on Throttle's shoulder. "Don't worry; we'll get 'em. In the meantime, I'm going to call in a few favours, make sure that our reception on Mars is as warm as it can be. Heck, I might be able to ensure that we can get off this rock in one piece."

"Before you go," Vinnie said, eyeing Hera, "I've gotta know: how did you read my mind?"

Hera shrugged. "You pick up a few things by the time you've reached my age. In any case, anybody can use telepathy. It's even easier for Martian mice, since you guys are more telepathically attuned than most any other race. It just requires focus and discipline." With that, Hera turned and left.

Vinnie took one look at Throttle and turned to go. Modo quickly followed suit.

Throttle sat there in his chair, staring at the screen of static. His fists clenched and loosened continuously, cords bulging on his hands. Behind his shades a fierce look fixed his gaze on his knees. He pounded his fist once against his leg and got up, knocking the chair he'd been sitting in over. He stormed to the door, thinking all the while:

_We're coming, Charley!_

FIN

* * *

**Throttle:** Oh, you are such an ass, Jon.

**Hera Ledro:** I know. I'm the biggest asswipe of them all.

**Vinnie:** Well, at least he knows how to make a friendship reparation scene.

**Modo:** …You know what reparation means?

**Hera Ledro: **Right, we'll leave them at it.

**Hera Ledro:** I have news that is potentially disappointing to many readers. After much thought (and I do mean MUCH thought), I don't think I'm going to continue with the morbid tones I started off trying to do. It just isn't me, and I need to practice writing morbidity more before I actually WRITE-write it. But don't any of you worry; there'll be lots of blood to come.

**Author's Stuff**

So yeah, read and review blah blah blah. It's getting to the point where I can only count on a few people to review. Come on, spread some love! And even if you don't like it, tell me why! That's the thing I hate, is that people come around and look at a story, think it's horrible, but don't say WHY. We can't give you good stuff if we don't know what makes you happy! SO TELL US!

Anyways, thanks for reading ^_^ No, that FIN does not mean this is the last Chapter. Far from it; I've got a WHOLE twisted storyline ready for you guys. Hope to get the next chapter out soon!

~Jon


	8. Final Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Hey guys, just me again.

So here's the deal. I was writing (yes, actually handwriting; that's how I do my work) the next Chapter for Rock 'n' Ride when I thought, "Wow…you know this could work like (x)." And what is that (x) you ask? Why, I believe it stands for a new story! Yeah, I'm going to list Rock 'n' Ride as complete and make the next set of chapters a sequel. I wasn't originally, but it struck me that Rock 'n' Ride at this point stands as a decent lead-in to the main storyline, and I'd like the main storyline to have its own focus.

Now don't y'all worry, I'm still gonna be going in the same direction as I was before (though you'll likely hate me for it ^-^; ), but for many reasons – namely my dissatisfaction with Rock 'n' Ride – I feel as though it would be wiser to separate a fleshed-out fiction from a rather small and amateur one.

So yeah, to wrap it up, I will summarise: Rock 'n' Ride is finished, but the storyline will continue. Be on the lookout for "Homecoming" in a near you! [/cliché]


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